


This Way to Heaven

by swtalmnd



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Anal Sex, Eames' ridiculous nicknames, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22674394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swtalmnd/pseuds/swtalmnd
Summary: Eames has tattoos that change according to his mood. Arthur is intrigued, then fascinated, and eventually clued in.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 186
Collections: Eames' Stupid Cupid 2020





	This Way to Heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queuebird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queuebird/gifts).



> Thanks to QueenThayet for the cheerreading and Oceaxe for the quick beta! You guys are the best.
> 
> And of course all gratitude goes to the magnificent Teacup for running this little exchange every year! It's the best reason to get back into A/E.

Arthur first noticed when he and Eames were on a job in Miami, and everyone was in short sleeves. Tattoos peeked out of Eames' clothing here and there, showed through the light fabrics, and Arthur found himself trying to decipher them.

What was both vexing and fascinating was that they didn't seem to stay the same.

"Don't bother, petal," said Eames, catching Arthur staring as though he could remove Eames' shirt with the power of his mind. "They change according to my moods."

Arthur was surprised into laughter. "What, seriously?"

"Seriously," said Eames. He looked around and, when everyone proved to be busy elsewhere, shoved up one sleeve. "See?"

The arm, which Arthur had been positive had some kind of douchey fake-tribal thing on it yesterday, now held beautiful, loose calligraphy that said, "everything carries me to you."

"Neruda? Huh." Arthur felt a surge of jealousy, wondering who had captured Eames' attention enough to change the very ink on his body.

Eames smoothed down his sleeve and said, "Some days it's classier than others. Last week I had a tramp stamp that said, 'knock three times before entering.'"

Arthur laughed again, feeling warmer toward the forger than he had since the MacFionn job. "Well, color me impressed, anyway. I haven't got anything like that."

Eames chuckled. "You've got your own sort of magic, darling."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning.

* * *

The next time Arthur saw Eames' skin bared, they'd been caught in the rain on the way to their makeshift office. They were the first to arrive and Eames didn't even bother to hide as he stripped off his wet shirt and used it to towel his hair, leaving him in a sleeveless undershirt.

"Can I see?" asked Arthur, fascinated by the spiral of black words down one arm and the drip of lurid red off the other shoulder.

"Yeah, of course," said Eames. The glistening red ran down his arm and onto a skull that rested over the meat of his bicep. The skull was wearing a crooked crown, blood pooling and spilling over, dripping down and around the eye sockets like tears.

When he turned, though, all that delicate shading was forgotten as Arthur read the elegantly inked lyrics on his other arm and laughed. "Really, Eames? Someone to watch over me?"

Eames shrugged, gesturing to where Arthur had a whole set of clean, dry clothing ready for himself, a spare set he kept around the office in case of things like this. "You do all right for yourself, but I'm going to end up wearing damp trousers all day. Clearly I need more help than most."

Arthur snorted. "I think you mean that I'm more paranoid than most," he replied easily, changing from one outfit to another and glad of the dry socks, and that he was wearing boring underwear today. He wasn't quite ready to let Eames in on his own little secrets.

Another day, perhaps, once he'd been allowed to see what ink darkened Eames' torso, or if there were words caressing those strong thighs.

Arthur cleared his throat and buttoned himself up; there was a time and a place for that kind of thought, and this wasn't it.

"All right, well, what needs to get done today so we can send you home to warm up?" he asked instead, letting the work drown out the rest.

For now.

* * *

At first, Arthur thought Eames was wearing stockings, but as he got closer he saw that the black bands at the top were actually inked paisleys, and what appeared to be backseams were actually long arrows pointing upward, their lengths looping into the words, "this way to heaven."

Arthur recalled all the things Eames' tattoos had been telling him, and felt confident enough to crowd up behind him, fully clothed to Eames' mostly naked. "Who are you inviting to have a religious experience, Eames?" asked Arthur, purring in Eames' ear.

Eames had tensed to strike at the first touch of Arthur's hand to his boxer-clad hip, but he melted just as quickly at the sound of Arthur's voice. "It's always been you, petal." He leaned into Arthur, warm and flush from his shower, giving up on whatever it was he'd been reaching for at the back of the minibar. "Are you going to take us both to heaven, then?"

"Only if you packed lube and condoms," said Arthur with a chuckle. "Or, well, there's lots of things we can do without. But your body is literally inviting me in."

Eames turned in his arms and found his mouth for a kiss, the two of them close enough in height that it was one of the easiest things Arthur had ever done. Eames' mouth was minty and hot, lips plush and smooth, and the confidence in his kisses made Arthur's knees go weak. "I've got supplies, darling."

Arthur kissed him again just for the luxury of it, hands sliding over his muscles, discovering once again how strong he was under the disguise of his loose-fitting clothing. "Christ, I love your body," Arthur said, hands full of Eames' delightful ass. "I'm going to eat you out until you're begging for my dick."

"I always knew you were a romantic," said Eames, but he sounded delighted. 

Blunt fingers worked at all the fastenings of Arthur's clothing, getting him entirely undone before shoving all the layers off at once. Arthur let him do it, not caring about creases any decent dry cleaner could fix when the end result was being naked with Eames. He stepped out of his shoes and toed off his socks, tugging Eames with him and leaving a trail of their layers, not that Eames had been wearing more than the neon green boxers. Arthur's boring black went with them, and then it didn't matter a bit.

Eames let himself be laid out on the bed, all of him, skin and ink and grin, strength and softness and need, on display for Arthur's greedy gaze.

Arthur cracked up laughing when he realized that the giant letters on Eames' chest spelled out "Don't Panic" - backwards.

"You didn't have to worry," said Arthur, planting little kisses as he crawled up Eames' body, leaving little blossoms of ink in his way that he would definitely explore later. "I've never not wanted you, even when I hated you."

Eames let out an indignant noise that was ruined by the way his breath hitched when Arthur kissed up the shaft of his cock. "You never hated me, you just h-hated, oh, that I spoiled your plans."

Arthur shrugged and licked around his navel, then rubbed his face in Eames' stomach like a cat, feeling muscles moving under the softness. "I hated that you could see through them to the uncertainty beneath," he admitted. He licked up Eames' sternum and then, giving up all pretense, took another kiss, and another, and a dozen more until they were both panting and hard, cocks straining toward each other and stomachs wet with precome.

"It never stopped you wanting to be better, though." Eames' voice was low, rough, but earnest.

Arthur sighed and kissed him again. "Nothing can stop that," he said wryly. "All right, before I get too far along, where's your lube?"

Eames grinned up at him. "Your practicality has always appealed to me, you know. I did always want to end up under its umbrella somehow."

"I guess I'll be paranoid for two from now on." Arthur forced himself to pull away, to follow Eames' instructions on finding the lube and condoms and also Eames' extra gun, which got set on the bedside table with its safety on, just in case. In theory no one knew they were there, but no safe house was ever truly safe. Arthur didn't want to lose Eames just when they'd finally gotten together. Also, he really hated being shot.

Eames, predictably, looked charmed by the precaution.

"I know you know I'm clean, darling, but the condom will make the aftermath easier," said Eames, looking apologetic and sheepish.

"Yeah, of course," said Arthur, his brows knitting despite himself. "What kind of assholes have you been letting fuck you that wouldn't understand that?"

Eames shook his head, pulling Arthur in for a kiss. "People who weren't you, puggle, and therefore are now forever unimportant. Also, that particular person lost his privileges by continuing to refuse."

"What a dick," said Arthur, shaking his head. "Anyway, roll over. I believe there's heaven waiting for me and I want a taste." He smirked, licking his lips.

Eames' eyebrows went up and he rolled over with gratifying haste.

"My arse is at your disposal," said Eames, giving it a little wriggle. Blurred ink was just melting off his lower back, but his arse bloomed words while Arthur watched, loose brush letters that said, "Eat Me."

Arthur laughed. "Your ass is quoting Alice in Wonderland at me." 

Eames let out an embarrassed sound and buried his face in his hands.

Arthur got into position, one hand on each word, and made good on his promise. Eames was a delight to eat out, squirming and noisy, responsive to every flick of his tongue. Arthur got him sloppy with spit and when he glanced up, Eames' skin was already begging even if his mouth hadn't yet caught up. Two fingers, slick with lube, breached him easily and Arthur switched to peppering every little burst of 'please' on Eames' skin with kisses as he coaxed Eames to relax.

It didn't take long at all after that, and Eames' voice begging was even better than the splashed-ink bursts of color that dotted his body at every point Arthur had kissed. The tattoos didn't venture too high up his neck or down to his hands, even when Arthur kissed his fingers, but his torso and legs were beautiful works of art, an ephemeral, visual testament to the pleasure Arthur could give him.

When he rolled over, Eames' front was covered in a shadowy print of the wrinkled sheet below him, as though it had pressed ink into his skin while he writhed on top of it. The words, "kiss me" flowed along every crease and fold in a dreamy periwinkle, shadows in shadows that Arthur couldn't deny for a moment. "Every day forever," he whispered against Eames' lips.

Eames was beaming when they broke apart. "I'll hold you to that."

There weren't many more words after that, nothing like sentences able to form once Arthur sank inside Eames' welcoming heat, once Eames wrapped strong arms around him, cradled him between those thick thighs. Arthur was glad he'd had the chance to get Eames so worked up, because the sight of Eames below him, of Eames sweaty and flushed and greedy for him, well. Arthur wouldn't last too long against it. The heat and slickness inside Eames were slightly muted by the condom, but that just made it better when Eames got them folded up enough for a kiss and he felt that heat against his tongue instead.

Arthur lost track of everything after that, everything but the feel of Eames around his cock and under his hands and against his mouth, everything but the sound of their breathing, their moans and groans and grunts. Everything but the glorious way each 'kiss me' would light up a different color as Arthur did what they said, until Eames' front was a riot of color more beautiful than any piece of art.

When a gorgeous chakra symbol flared over Eames' heart, Arthur lost it entirely, spilling himself into Eames' body and watching as his other chakras lit up, all the way from the base of his cock to a brief flash of third eye that winked at Arthur before fading back out of existence. When the last pulse of pleasure was over, Arthur kissed him hard. "Suck you, yeah?" he panted.

Eames tugged Arthur's hand to his cock, making a needy sound. "Almost, please, now," he babbled, and Arthur shoved himself deeper and stroked instead, pulling back to watch as Eames gasped beneath him. Eames came with a great heave of breath and a sob, splashing white over his skin that worked, somehow, with the art they'd made of him. Arthur stroked him through it and stopped when he whimpered, hoping his eyes showed the adoration lodged sharply in his chest.

Eames blinked and focused on him, and a smile blossomed on his face. "Oh, Arthur."

Arthur grinned back, gave him a kiss, and pulled out before the condom issue became moot. They cleaned up together with Eames' damp towel and snuggled back into bed, Arthur very pleased to pillow his head on Eames' broad chest. The tattoos had changed, wiped away like old ink, and something new was drawing itself in slow strokes of the finest linework, like a master forger copying an etched currency plate.

"Are they like this in dreams, too?" asked Arthur, tracing a swirl on Eames' hip and being amused when it was followed by a swimming fish that dived back into nothingness when his finger stopped moving.

"They're never like this," said Eames, twining their fingers together. "Usually they're still when anyone can see."

Arthur smiled up at him. "I like how playful it is, the magic in your skin." Arthur pressed another kiss to his breastbone just to see what would happen. An orange cartoon jack-o-lantern blurred into existence with a grin and a wink, making Arthur chuckle.

"They're static in dreams, usually, but different in every dream." Eames pressed a kiss to Arthur's forehead. "I honestly can't wait to see how they are from now on."

"Me, neither," said Arthur, settling in as drowsiness stole away his curiosity. They wouldn't be perfect together, but they'd spent years working up to this, and Arthur was finally as ready as Eames to give it a go.

He thought he heard Eames whisper, "Sweet dreams," as he dozed off, but he couldn't be sure. All he really knew was that Eames would be there when he awoke.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahaha I have been reminded that in my hatred of posting and tags and summaries, I forgot to give credit where it's due:
> 
> Thank you to Teacup for lending me her tramp stamp ;) The stockings are off the XDress website -- their product line is ever-changing and it makes me sad when my links break, but you get the idea, anyway. They were the initial inspiration, plus queuebird's "magical realism" request.


End file.
